


Corded: A Cyberbully Fanfiction

by mrgreenbeanman



Series: Corded: A Cyberbully Fanfiction [1]
Category: Cyberbully (Movies)
Genre: Cyberbullying, Dystopia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Scary, Umbilical Cord, uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgreenbeanman/pseuds/mrgreenbeanman
Summary: “You people know that cyberbully is real; if you don't, that's a problem. There shouldn't be cyber bullying at all, even if you think it's funny. The truth is, it hurts other people. I suggest you read this or watch the movie Cyberbully, as it's a really neat movie, as well as very good, too. Also, leaving positive, inspiring and uplifting feedback for someone - especially in fan fiction that they write and post online - is seen as a good start for making a difference as well.”  -- Unknown Philosopher





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “You people know that cyberbully is real; if you don't, that's a problem. There shouldn't be cyber bullying at all, even if you think it's funny. The truth is, it hurts other people. I suggest you read this or watch the movie Cyberbully, as it's a really neat movie, as well as very good, too. Also, leaving positive, inspiring and uplifting feedback for someone - especially in fan fiction that they write and post online - is seen as a good start for making a difference as well.” -- Unknown Philosopher

Taylor Hillridge stood up from the table, a chinese food box ajar, and was stopped in her tracks by the thing protruding from her stomach. She sighed.  
“Mom, is this really necessary?”  
“Yes, honey. Ever since things with the internet and the police, we have to do this. It’s the only way,” Taylor’s mother exhaled. The control she felt over the situation, and her child, invigorated her. “Only until I’m sure I can trust you again.”  
“It was three years ago, why can’t you let it go? Why can’t you let me…” Taylor trailed off mid-sentence, knowing she dare not finish it.  
Because the last time she questioned her mother, she took Taylor to the hospital and demanded they sew them back together.  
Taylor sighed and grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, then sat back down at the table. She groaned, wishing she could eat with her mouth again, rather than her stomach, connected to her mother’s uterus. Her mother ate a spoonful of rice and chicken.  
“This chicken is so good, Taylor. I wish you could eat it, but you can’t eat with your mouth anymore. You don’t need to eat with your mouth anymore, Taylor. Because I give you all the nutrients you need through our love cord. I am your mother, Taylor,” her mom leaned over the table at Taylor, who was sitting across from her with a sick look on her face. Their long umbilical cord sat over the table like a looming boa constrictor, a slither of a giant piece of meat over the smooth white tablecloth. It protruded with veins that pulsed with every synchronized heartbeat between Taylor and her mother. Taylor’s mom looked at it and stroked it with the back of her hand.  
“It was just Cliquesters, mom.” Taylor groaned. “I just wanted to fit in with the other kids at school… I won’t do it again… I can’t do it again…”  
“I am your mother, Taylor, and I need to make sure you can’t use Cliquesters again. You remember what happened the last time you saw a computer. The last time the embrace of a screensaver graced your eyes. The last time you saw megapixels up close. The last time you--”  
“Mom, I don’t need this!” Taylor interrupted. Her mother dropped the spoon she was holding, about to shovel into her mouth.  
“What did you just say to me, young lady?”  
“Sorry, mom, I didn’t mean--”  
“Are you saying you want to be cyberbullied again?”  
“I’m sorry, mom,” Taylor pleaded and sobbed.  
“Do you want to end up like Eric?” Taylor’s mom screamed at her, voice going hoarse.  
“No, mom, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The memory of Eric, her late brother, shuddered through Taylor’s body. It rattled the Frankenstein umbilical cord across the table, and Mrs. Hillridge felt Taylor’s fear. She smiled, satisfied with her parenting methods.  
“I love you, Taylor. I only do this because I want to trust you again. I love you, Taylor. I want you to be safe. That’s why we had to do this. We had to be sure you couldn’t see a computer again, Taylor. We just want you to be safe.” She reached across the table and caressed Taylor’s pale cheeks. The undersides of her eyes were dark purple, drooping like she’d been on Cliquesters all night long--

But she couldn’t have done that.  
Taylor Hillridge hasn’t seen a computer in years, and won’t for years to come.  
She could never be cyberbullied again.  
Taylor remembered the correct thoughts to think at the right time. If she thought any more wrong things, then she might say wrong things, and she might disappoint her mother, which she didn’t want to do. Her very life was proof to Taylor that she owed it to her mother, and as such, Taylor did everything her mother told her do, even if it was sewing them back together.  
“You’re right. Mom. I’m sorry for being so disobedient. I don’t want to be cyberbullied again,” Taylor sighed. “Let’s stay connected forever, Mom.” She lightly rubbed her mother’s hand on her cheek, and smiled faintly. Taylor was restrained, but she was safe. She’d never have to see Lindsay again, or any boys, or the gay guy in her history class that gave her psychological truths about life--  
She wouldn’t ever see Cheyenne again--  
She’d never see Sam again.  
The same Sam that tried to ruin her life, but also, the Sam that gave her the first real love of her life, that taught her the touch of another woman… James. Sam’s sockpuppet. Sam’s insults, Sam’s rumors, Sam’s voice, Sam calling Taylor’s mom. Sam’s voice, but Sam calling out Taylor’s name. Did Taylor owe Sam her life? Probably, but she also tried to end it--  
She couldn’t get the cap off.  
Sam, watching Taylor cry on the floor.  
Taylor’s mom, holding Taylor as she cried, unbeknownst to Taylor, plotting to sew them together, but holding Taylor with all the love in her body.  
“Love you a lot, mom.” Taylor smiled more, and closed her eyes blissfully. She took her bad thoughts and converted them into positivity immediately, in fear that any negative feelings would cause her to upset her mother, and she didn’t want that at all.  
“Love you too, Taylor. Wanna go watch the video of me smashing your laptop with a sledgehammer again, honey?”  
“Sure, mom.” She gleefully rubbed the giant umbilical cord in front of her and sighed with pleasure. “Anything to make you happy.”


	2. City Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “To everyone out there who thinks that cyberbullying can be ignored :
> 
> You come home from school, tears streaming down your face because you were ignored and talked about behind your back at school that day.  
> You think that you're safe at home, that they can't get to you when you're locked away in your room, but they can!  
> You know that you should block them, you should shut down your computer and ignore them but you physically and mentally cannot!  
> You need to know what they are saying no matter how much it hurts you.  
> You can't ignore it, you don't want to ignore it.
> 
> Cyberbullying is serious but people seem to think that it's not important because it's online. It is important and needs to be taken seriously. Cyberbullying kills. Cyberbullying ends beautiful lives. Is that not serious enough?
> 
> Thank you for reading this. Remember, be kind or it will be your fault that a beautiful life now no longer exists.” -- Unknown Philosopher, Likely a Pupil of Socrates’

“Eric Hillridge, at age fifteen, was cyberbullied to death.”  
That’s what his mother said in her presentation to the state; her daughter was almost cyberbullied to death, but was saved by an emergency surgery attachment via umbilical cord. Her son, she’d say, whispering crocodile tears, with a limp glance away and a weak grasp for a tissue, was not as lucky, and was directly killed by cyberbullying. He is a victim, as we all are, of this tragedy. Bless his soul in heaven, the lawless wench sometimes cried out, as if she knew anything about heaven, he was killed by the computer, the computer killed him.   
That’s what started the movement, the Human Dominance Over Computers movement, hailed by the short-lived fad, “Eric’s Challenge”. Those participating in Eric’s challenge would tie down their computers and beat them to uselessness, to represent the cause of cyberbullying, and how to combat it, some calling it Cyberbullying Awareness. They would take their screwdrivers, their wrenches, or sometimes involve roleplaying, some more inventive ones giving them lines and saying them too; “bite the curb,” before taking a pavement smashing of its glass face, or “finish him,” before having a hammer inside of its head, all on camera. For a few months, the top YouTube channels made a point of taking Eric’s Challenge, sometimes performing it multiple times with different outfits. The public opinion of computers, despite a societal need for them, became negative, as people saw more instances of cyberbullying pop up. More people suffering from cyberbullying, which was renamed to Eric’s Syndrome, had happened now than ever before. The middle class suburbs rioted for their children, their own little Erics. They turned to Mrs. Hillridge, who was at this very moment, rubbing lotion on the umbilical cord that attached herself and Taylor, on stage at town hall.   
She stood tall at the podium, with Taylor on her right. Mrs. Hillridge applied lotion to the veiny shaft running between herself and Taylor as she answered a question.  
“So, to answer your question, this was recommended to me as a result of Taylor’s cyberbullying, too.”   
“Your daughter was cyberbullied too?” A journalist hollered above the crowd, which started to turn with excitement.   
“Yes, my lovely daughter, Taylor-- come here, honey. Talk about it.” Mrs. Hillridge gestured to Taylor, her face weary. Taylor did not want to speak again, as she had at previous city hall excursions. Today, she was tired and feeling malnourished, as her mother had not eaten as punishment for Taylor’s insolence that morning; a groan as she turned the laundry.   
Mrs. Hillridge nudged Taylor and whispered aggressively in her ear.  
“You will get up on this podium, and you will tell the nice people what happened. What really happened, no more, no less. Do not think you will get away with anything like you did this morning, young lady.” Taylor closed her eyes with resignation and weakly stepped onto the podium. Her legs shook, her palms moist with anxiety.  
“Hello, town hall… I am Taylor Hillridge, and I was cyberbullied.” Taylor’s trembling voice rang through the room. “I was cyberbullied by my whole school, as well as my ex-best friend, Samantha Caldwell. She was thankfully put to death before she could wreak any more havoc, but I still suffer psychological d-” Taylor paused. She felt a lump in her throat. “Psychological damage from being so cyberbullied. I fully support my mother’s run for city council, and our umbilical cord strengthens our bond. This is how everyone should live, without internet, and thus, living a cyberbully-less life. Thank you.” Taylor stepped down from the podium. The crowd clapped solemnly, as Taylor’s mother rubbed the cord, almost purring.  
“Taylor, can you answer some questions?” A journalist asked, prompting the whole crowd to buzz once again. Taylor slowly glanced at her mother for an answer, given with a small nod.  
“Sure,” Taylor almost whispered.  
“How were you cyberbullied?” The crowd fell silent, awaiting Taylor’s answer. She gazed at the reporter, eyes as dead as hers. He was hard to find, though. When did the crowd get so big? When did she become so small, when did the room become so small, but the crowd so big? Time slowed as a sweat drop trickled down Taylor’s pale face. This wasn’t a hard question for Taylor. She had answered it hundreds of times before, she had almost memorized it, but this time felt harder. Re-living it became harder for her this time, despite having re-lived it time and time again for her mother’s campaign. Her throat clenched. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Play it cool, Taylor. Play it as cool as you can.   
“I… was catfished by my best friend who wanted to play a trick on me, to hurt my feelings after I made a completely justified judgment on her sexual history. I was also insulted by members of my school, Lindsay--” Taylor’s mother leaned into the microphone.  
“Lindsay’s father is running against me, by the way.” The crowd gasped.  
“...Lindsay, and her friends, and I had no one else… I was almost driven to suicide, but I couldn’t get the cap off.”  
“The cap off?”  
“The cap off the pill bottle, yes.” Taylor remembered her mother’s teachings, don’t say yeah, don’t use slang. The political campaign demands poise, explanation, and enunciation. You’re twenty years old, now, Taylor. You should know how to talk to people. You have my knowledge. We are one now, Taylor. We are one person. You must be smarter than you once needed, because we are a grown up now, and grown ups listen to their mother in all things. Tears welled in Taylor’s eyes as she stood at the podium. Her mother rested her hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “That was a very scary time in my life, but thanks to my mom-- mother, my mother, I feel much safer than I did previously. I am safe. I do not use computers anymore, because they are a menace to society.”   
“Thank you, Taylor, I could not have gotten here without you. I love you so much,” Mrs. Hillridge cooed, reaching down to give Taylor a rigid side hug. The crowd awwwed, and photographers snapped pictures. Mrs. Hillridge flinched up with a flourish, almost whacking Taylor, and continued her speech. “But everyone, the fight for an end to cyberbullying cannot continue without your help. Your donations, votes, and support are integral to us on the campaign trail. We need to end cyberbullying, to prevent cases like Taylor, and her late brother Eric. End cyberbullying. End the internet’s crusade against children. Thank you.” The crowd cheered as Mrs. Hillridge walked away, the clip-clop of her shoes against the wooden stage, followed by a very sick-looking Taylor, a pathetic tap-tap-tap of weakened feet, following closely behind. The connected pair disappeared behind a red curtain on the right side of the stage.


End file.
